get them drinks and asked her to scope out a table, she chose to join his father and Bahru at theirs. Ryan didn’t look too pleased when he returned, but he tried to cover it as he put down their drinks and asked, “Dad, can I you get something? Bahru, a carrot juice or anything?”
That was slightly nasty, Lena thought. But Bahru only held up a hand and shook his head.
Ernst said, “No, I’m fine.”
Then Ryan returned his focus to her. “Lena. Is that short for anything?”
“Magdalena,” she told him.
“Magdalena.” He nodded slowly. “It’s an old-fashioned name.”
“Very. My mother said it just came to her the first time she held me, and she never questions things like that.” She leaned forward. “She’s a witch.” Normally she wouldn’t bring that up in front of a client, but she knew Ernst was a spiritual seeker. She wasn’t worried about judgment from a guy who traveled the world with a guru at his side.
“The Wiccan kind?” Ernst asked.
She nodded.
“So you were raised…?”
“Casting and conjuring since I was four,” she said.
“Delightful.” The billionaire really seemed sincere.
“You just get cuter and cuter,” Ryan said.
“One’s belief system is sacred,” Bahru said softly. “Not cute.”
She sent Ryan a “so there” lift of her eyebrows. He rolled his eyes.
“What’s your belief system, Bahru?” she asked.
“I was raised Hindi, but I have learned from countless holy men, shamans, priests, priestesses, swamis, monks, nuns and more, all around the world. I am an eclectic, I suppose.”
“That’s fascinating.”
“I have never studied with a witch,” he said. “I would love to talk with you about your path one day.”
“I’d like that, too,” she told him.
“Hey, don’t you owe me a slow dance?” Ryan asked.
She studied him. He was bored with their discussion. Strike one, she thought. But maybe he would come around, given time. “All right,” she said, getting to her feet, “but I can’t ignore the man I’m supposed to be working for tonight.” She nodded at his father.
“Consider yourself off duty, beautiful Magdalena,” Ernst said. “Enjoy the party. I think I’m going to call it a night anyway.” He rose as well. “I am very much looking forward to working with you, my dear. I’ll phone you in the morning.” He opened his arms for a hug.
The feminist part of her thought he wouldn’t be hugging a male PR person. But the rest of her was touched. She hugged him briefly, and he took the opportunity to whisper into her ear, “Be careful, my dear. He’s a heart-breaker, my son.”
“He’s the one who’d better be careful,” she whispered back. “I am my mother’s daughter.” She kissed him on the cheek, knowing they were going to be close, whatever happened between her and Ryan.
Then she extended a hand to Bahru. “It was lovely meeting you. I look forward to those talks.”
“As do I.” He clasped her hand in both of his and bowed over it twice.
Then she was swept into Ryan’s arms, and she forgot all about his calling witchcraft “cute,” along with his rudeness toward Bahru and apparent boredom with spiritual discourse. None of it compared in the least with the feeling that swept over her when he wrapped one strong arm around her waist and held her close. She inhaled, breathing him into her, and then closed her eyes against an inexplicable rush of dizziness, as if his aura was a drug and she had no resistance to it. Lowering her head to his chest, she let him move her around the floor as visions raced into her mind.
There was a bubbling spring, very small, shaded by a trio of exotic palm-like trees that all seemed to grow from the same roots. The ground around the spring was nourished by the nearby water and sprouted plants in gratitude. They had thick, fibrous stalks and coarse, sharp-edged leaves, and yet they bloomed in tiny pink and purple flowers. She did not know what they were called.
And there in that beautiful miniature oasis, she was in the arms of a handsome prince. She felt his chest beneath her head, his arms around her waist. She breathed him in, and it was the same. The same essence. More than a scent, it was an energy. An aura. The same man.
Fantasies I spun when I was a little girl, under the influence of Aladdin and I Dream of Jeannie reruns. I’d had the Jasmine and Aladdin dolls. I’d created an entire life for them in which Aladdin was the prince and Jasmine the slave girl. I’d drawn pictures, made little chapter books that told their love story, their adventures, with construction paper and Crayola crayons. It wasn’t real.
Then how can he be the same? she asked herself.
He can’t, that’s the answer. This is some kind of break with reality, and I’d better get a handle on it, because I cannot afford a mental breakdown at this point in my life. My career is about to take off, for Goddess’ sake!
She closed her eyes and tried to keep her head in the moment. Which was, after all, a pretty amazing moment, because Ryan was gorgeous and…
And his hand was trailing down her spine, lightly, gently, slowly, lower, over the ultra-sensitive small of her back to just above her tailbone, and then, just as exquisitely, back up again. She shivered, and she knew he felt it. He dipped his head a little lower, and his bristly cheek brushed over hers as he whispered near her ear, “You seem so familiar to me. Are you sure we’ve never met before?”
It’s just a line, said her brain.
Oh, God, that warm breath on my ear, said her body.
“I’ve been asking myself the same thing,” said her voice, because she didn’t like to lie. She never had. “But I’ve decided not to worry about it. I’m just going to enjoy the moment.”
“I think that’s a very good philosophy.”
“It’s the only one, really. All your power is in the now. The past no longer exists, and the future’s not here yet. Now is really all there is, and since it is always now, it’s endless. The eternal present.”
“Deep.”
She shrugged. “I take it you’re not all that into deep, philosophical discussions?”
He angled his head downward. “I’m afraid I’m guilty.”
“Why? Your father is such a spiritual man.”
“Exactly.”
She frowned, searching his eyes. “Meaning?”
He smiled, a charming, killer smile. “Let’s not go there. Let’s be in the moment.
